Page 27 of Cottage in the Mist (Time After Time #3)

“Bram?” The cry tore through him. “Where are you?”

He turned from the fireplace as Lily pushed to a sitting position, her ebony hair curling wildly around her head, her sleep-heavy eyes holding traces of fear. His heart twisted.

“I’m here, mo ghràidh . I’m only stoking the fire.

” Placing the poker back by the hearth, he crossed the room to slip into bed beside her, pulling her soft, warm body against his, his lips moving in her hair.

Within his embrace he could feel her trembling.

“Dinna fash yourself,” he soothed. “Everything is all right.”

“I’m sorry.” She tilted her head so that her emerald gaze met his. “It’s just that I woke and you were gone. Like before. And I…”

“I know,” he whispered, stroking her hair. He fought the urge to assure her that it would never happen again. That they’d never be parted. But he wasn’t a lying man. The future—their future—was clouded. “I’m here now,” he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against hers.

He’d meant to offer comfort. To hold her until she fell asleep, but the spark between them ignited, his senses exploding as he deepened the kiss.

Never had he felt so engulfed by passion.

He’d always been the possessor, never the possessed.

The idea should have alarmed him, but somehow it only made him want her more.

Maybe he’d had it right the first time. He was bewitched, body and soul.

With a groan, he rolled her beneath him, pinning her body with his, his hips resting between her thighs. Their gazes locked and held, her glittering green eyes dark with desire.

Again he bent his head, this time to trace the line of her jaw with open-mouthed kisses, letting his lips trail lower to caress the curve of her neck and the valley between her breasts.

She whimpered and arched her back. And he took what she offered, circling one nipple with his tongue and then the other, teasing them both until he felt them pebble hard beneath his touch.

Where their lovemaking before had been ruled by raw hunger and need, this time, although desire still pressed, Bram was determined to take it slow.

To make time for exploration. For slow, sensual loving.

Using his hands and mouth, he explored every part of her, rejoicing in the soft tangle of her hair, the velvety whorls of her ears and the supple, smooth curves of her shoulders.

He kissed her fingers, her toes, the hollows behind her knees. He tasted her lips, her breasts, and finally her soft molten core. His hands worshiped her, his lips reverent. She belonged to him. And he to her. It was as simple as that. Or perhaps as complicated.

But now wasn’t the time for thinking.

Bram pushed her thighs wide and thrust his tongue deep, feeling her shudder and clench around him. She cried out as satisfaction burned through him, his need to please her almost overriding his own desire.

Sliding up again, he took possession of her mouth, his kiss growing more insistent.

She yielded to him, her tongue dancing with his, her taste intoxicating.

He wound his fingers through her hair as her hands stroked his shoulders, his back, his hips.

And then her fingers slipped between them, circling his erection—her touch almost unmanning him.

She squeezed and stroked, caressing and enticing. Inch by inch, his carefully fought control slipped away until he stood on the brink, his body heavy with his need. “Enough,” he whispered, reaching down to remove her hand.

She frowned in question, but he smiled, pushing her thighs apart as he settled himself between them. Then, arching his hips, he entered her with a single, powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt, her tight, wet heat threatening to finish what her hand had begun.

Resisting the urge to move, he held her passion-filled gaze, drinking in her strength, her beauty. “No matter what happens—know always that you are mine.” He hadn’t meant to say the words; they’d come unbidden. And now they stretched between them, filling the silence.

“And you’re mine,” she whispered as she pulled him down into a kiss, her body shifting to take him deeper. And he was lost on a sea of passion and emotion beyond anything he’d ever kenned.

There was nothing but the two of them and the power of their bodies moving together, each stroke taking them higher and then higher still, until he wasn’t sure where he ended and she began.

And he knew in that moment that he’d do anything to protect her—even if it meant letting her go.

Bram shivered in the cold as the first pink fingers of dawn reached up from the horizon.

Lily lay sleeping in the bed, one hand clutching the bedcovers, the other folded beneath her cheek.

Her dark curls splayed out across the pillow.

Her ring lay against her bare breast, the cool silver almost encircling her nipple.

He clenched his fist, fighting the desire to abandon all honor. To climb back into the bed. To take her again. To lose himself in her sweet heat. But to do so would be to deny his heritage. To dishonor his father and his clan.

Dawn was upon them. And his duty lay above all else. Even his love. His love . The words echoed through his mind. He tested them, considered them, and then accepted them as truth. He loved Lily. Had loved her almost from the first moment she’d collapsed at his hearth. And yet he had to walk away.

His world wasn’t safe for her. Not with the threat from the Comyns.

And worse from his own clan. Until he’d proven his innocence and avenged his father, there was no place in his life for her.

He couldn’t be sure he’d be able to keep her safe.

And that suddenly was more important even than having her with him.

Still his heart twisted, his stomach clenching. Their coming together had been a gift. And now he was risking losing it forever.

He secured his plaid, and still watching her sleep, reached for his father’s brooch, the mountain cat’s eyes glittering up at him.

Closing his hand around it, he bent to retrieve Lily’s gown from the floor and then carefully pinned the brooch to the bodice.

If he could not stay, then at least he’d leave her a part of him.

Clenching a fist, he laid the gown across the end of the bed, then secured his claymore and strode for the door, turning for one last look, praying that fate would be kind.

That once the fighting was over, they would find each other again.

But even more so, he prayed that if his boon were to be granted and they were indeed reunited, that Lily would find it in her heart to forgive him.

“The bloody bastard left me. He told me I belonged to him and then he walked away without looking back.” Lily paced in front of the stone fireplace in the great hall at Duncreag, her voice echoing across the room.

Mrs. Abernathy, Elaine and Jeff all watched her with trepidation.

She knew she was losing it, and had it been any other situation, she’d have laughed at her own dramatics.

But in truth, there was nothing to laugh at.

Bram Macgillivray had left her. Just like everyone else in her life.

She’d believed in him, let herself hope again.

And now… now he’d left her and shattered her heart all over again.

“I’m such a stupid fool. How could I have believed him? I thought he cared about me. I thought he… he…” She trailed off, unable to say the words.

“Ach, now you don’t know what he was thinking,” Mrs. Abernathy soothed. “Maybe he didn’t mean to leave you. That’s what happened before, right? Neither of you could control it.”

She shook her head, clenching her fists.

“Yes, but this time we knew better. We knew that we couldn’t be parted.

I even told him I’d go with him. That I’d fight the damn Comyns if that’s what it took.

Be a part of his stupid battle. But it didn’t matter.

He left me anyway. For Iain and Ranald and honor.

Believe me, he knew what would happen if he left. But that didn’t stop him, did it?”

“Maybe he had good reason,” Jeff offered.

“Like what?” She eyed him with suspicion. One man was very much like another after all. And, at the moment, she wasn’t inclined to trust any of them.

“Well, you mentioned a battle. I assume it has something to do with Bram’s father’s death?”

“Yes.” She nodded, anger still propelling her to pace. “He blames a man called Alec Comyn. Bram’s and Alec’s fathers were enemies, I think.”

“Would make sense.” Mrs. Abernathy nodded, her lips pursed as she considered the notion. “There’s never been any love lost between the Comyns and the Macgillivrays.”

“Yes and to make it worse, apparently Bram’s family—some of them anyway—believe that he is the one who killed his family. So they gave what’s left of Dunbrae to his uncle.”

“That can’t have gone over well,” Jeff said with a frown. “But why would they think it was him?”

“Apparently, in order for Alec Comyn’s men to have taken Dunbrae they would have had to have inside help. And someone is putting it about that Bram was the traitor.”

“Which makes his loss that much greater,” Mrs. Abernathy mused. “Poor lad.”

“I’ll grant you that,” Lily said, her heart squeezing as she thought of the pain in Bram’s voice. “But that doesn’t mean I forgive him for what he’s done.”

“Did Bram believe the Comyns were behind the attack at Duncreag as well?” Jeff asked, still clearly focused on Bram’s situation.

“Yes,” she admitted on a sigh. “He says they wore the right colors. Although everyone was killed, so they couldn’t confirm it. But a man from Dunbrae—“ She stopped before the fire, trying to remember. “—Frazier. Seamus’s captain, I believe. He confirmed it.”

“He’s there?” Jeff questioned. “At Duncreag?”